hands clenched and unclenched as if ready to throttle someone.
Her stepfather rarely resorted to physical violence, preferring more subtle methods. But she had no illusions she was safe if he felt himself goaded too far.
Leila pressed clammy hands together. If only Joss Carmody would thrust open the ornamental doors and stride into the courtyard.
Never had an unwanted bridegroom been so eagerly awaited.
Fear churned her stomach. Was Gamil right? Had the Australian cried off? What, then, of her plans for independence and the career she’d always wanted?
No! She couldn’t think like that. There was still time, though he was ninety minutes late and the whispering guests had already been ushered into the salon for refreshments.
Heat filled the courtyard. Leila stiffened her weary spine against the frightening compulsion to admit defeat.
How many more years could she take? This last bout of solitary confinement had almost broken her.
Gamil had broken her mother, destroying her vibrant optimism and love of life. Leila had watched her change from an outgoing, charming beauty, interested in everyone and everything. In a few short years she’d transformed from a society hostess par excellence and an asset to her first husband’s brilliant diplomatic career to a faded, downtrodden wraith, jumping at shadows. She’d lost the will to live long before illness had claimed her.
Leila tipped her head up, feeling the sun on her face. Who knew how long before she’d feel it again?
Despite the gossamer-fine silks, the lavish henna decorations on her hands and feet, the weight of traditional gold jewellery at her throat and ears, Leila was no pampered princess but a prisoner held against her will.
If Joss didn’t show, standing here in the open air might be the closest she’d come to freedom till she came of age at twenty-five in another sixteen months.
‘What are you doing outside in the heat?’ The dark voice sidled through her thoughts and shock punched deep in her solar plexus.
He was here!
Her eyes snapped open. At the sight of his imposing frame, his don’t-mess-with-me jaw and piercing eyes, Leila found herself smiling with relief. Her first genuine smile in years. It stretched stiff facial muscles till they hurt, the sensation strange in her world of guarded emotion.
Joss halted, struck anew by her curious combination of fragility and composure. That hint of steel in her delicate form. She looked thinner, her neat jaw more pronounced and her wrist narrow as she raised a hand and the weight of gold bangles jingled.
Her eyes opened, the pupils wide in clear grey depths. Then as he watched velvety shades of green appeared, turning her gaze bewitching.
She smiled. Not that tiny knowing smile of last month, but a broad grin that made something roll over in the pit of his stomach.
Ensnared, he drank in the sight of her, the warmth in her frank appraisal, the pleasure that drew him closer.
Heavy scent filled his nostrils, a dusky rose that clogged his senses. It wasn’t right on her. But then this woman, decked in the traditional wedding finery of her land, seemed so different from the one whose verbal sparring had intrigued him weeks ago.
‘I was waiting for you.’ There was no rancour in her voice but her eyes held his as if awaiting his explanation.
A hot spurt of sensation warmed his skin. Guilt?
Gamil hadn’t dared voice reproach when Joss arrived, knowing as countless others had before him that Joss lived by his own rules, at his own convenience. He didn’t give a damn if his priorities didn’t match anyone else’s.
Business came first with him—always. The urgent calls he’d taken this morning had required immediate action whereas a wedding could be delayed.
Yet seeing her expression, Joss had the rare, uncomfortable feeling he’d disappointed. It evoked memories of childhood when nothing he did had lived up to expectations. His tough-as-nails father had wanted a clone of himself: utterly ruthless. His mother…just thinking of his mother made him break into a cold sweat. He shoved aside the dark memories.
‘You waited out here? Couldn’t you have waited in the cool? You look—’ he bent closer, cataloguing her pallor and the damp sheen on her forehead and upper lip ‘—unwell.’
Her smile slid away and her gaze dropped. Instantly the heat in his belly eased.
‘My stepfather made arrangements for the ceremony to take place here.’ She gestured across to a fanciful silk canopy. Joss dragged his gaze from her. There were pots of heavy-scented roses, ornate gilded furniture, garlands of flowers, rich hand-woven rugs and gauzy hangings of spangled fabric.
‘Clearly he’s not familiar with the idea that less is more,’ Joss murmured.
A choked laugh drew his attention, but Leila was already turning away in answer to a brusque command from her stepfather. Beneath the flowing silk of her robe, she was rigid. She paced slowly, as if reluctant.
Joss watched the interchange between them. One so decisive and bossy, the other unnaturally still. His hackles rose.
He stalked across the courtyard to join his affianced bride. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, his pleasure at today’s business coup faded. He felt out of sorts.
The wedding was almost over. The ceremony had been short, the gifts lavish and the feast massive, though Leila hadn’t been able to indulge much. After short rations for so long, she felt queasy even smelling rich food and the room had spun if she’d moved too quickly.
She’d had to work to repress excitement. Soon she’d be out of her stepfather’s house for good.
She’d be the wife of a man who wouldn’t impose himself on her. He’d take her away from here, his only interest in the oilfields she’d inherited. They’d negotiate a suitable arrangement—separate residences and then eventually a discreet divorce. He’d keep the land and she’d be free to—
‘Leila.’ His deep voice curled around her and she turned to find him watching, his dark gaze intent. He held out a heavy goblet.
Obediently she sipped, repressing a cough at the heady traditional brew. A concoction designed, it was said, to heighten physical awareness and increase sexual potency.
Joss lifted the cup, drinking deeply, and the crowd roared its approval. When he looked at her again his gaze as it trawled her was different. Heat fired under her skin. It felt as if he caressed her: across her cheek, down her throat then lingering on her lips.
Something flared in his eyes. Speculation.
Sharply she sat back, fingers splayed on the chair’s gilt arms as she braced herself against welling anxiety.
‘You make a beautiful bride, Leila.’ The words were trite but the warmth in his eyes was real.
‘Thank you. You’re a very attractive groom.’ She’d never seen a man fill a suit with such panache or with that underlying hint of predatory power.
Joss’s mouth
